


take out all my insides, turn into a ghost

by freezingsheep



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorders, F/F, Fainting, alt title: aquaria needs Therapy, but the comfort is... Tender, drinking and smoking as an unhealthy coping mechanism, idk man this whole thing is a wild ride of mental instability and gay yearning, this is like 3/4 hurt 1/4 comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-16 13:20:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20823041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezingsheep/pseuds/freezingsheep
Summary: In which Aquaria learns that bottling things up and lying through her teeth isn't always the solution.





	take out all my insides, turn into a ghost

**Author's Note:**

> ohhh boy this got out of hand,, someone on aq said they hoped i explored this verse more and Explore I Did. same au as headspace, but set before it time wise so you def don't have to read it first. a couple songs served as insp for the Mood of this monstrosity, but the main one is 'Heartscam' by DBMK, which is where the title comes from.

The first person to truly notice Aquaria’s problem is one of her coworkers _ .  _

There’s only thirty minutes left until they close down shop for the night, but watching Kameron sweep for the third time in an hour makes Aquaria feel like they’ll be there another few years. Business hadn’t been particularly active all day, and when the evening brought icy rain and dark clouds, what few people that had been out shopping quickly scattered. 

As the night wore on, their list of things to do grew short. Kameron took to her usual late night routine of making sure everything was suspiciously clean, and Aquaria busied herself with counting the cash and staring out the window. After confirming for the fifth time that maybe four people had come in during their shift, Aquaria decides her time is better spent daydreaming.

In the land of dreams lies the object of her fascination, the prize she receives for making it through these last few torturous minutes of doing absolutely nothing. 

Dinner.

Tonight is a test of endurance for Aquaria, like many nights before it. She wants to see how long she can go being cold, how many strenuous things she can accomplish while dripping in icy chill. She is no stranger to working on an empty stomach, no stranger to overpowering the jaws of hunger with her cheerful retail persona; and the promise of one free meal when she’s done moving for the day. 

This boredom, though, feeling herself waste away as the minutes march on, this is another beast entirely.

She sits behind the register, lethargic, resting her head in her right hand and tapping the desk with her left. She watches the rain pour like static on a screen, the drone of drops hitting the pavement almost enough to drown out Kameron’s distant humming. Her mind wanders to the angel cake she has in the fridge at home, the leftovers Asia and Monet promised to leave her, and she’s subtly overcome with the desire to devour and  _ sleep _ . Part of her regrets staying up late on top of everything else, but the more realistic part of her is indifferent. She’ll just do the same tonight. 

Aquaria's fingers fumble as she breaks her gaze from the weather, met with Kameron’s furrowed brows and bitten lip. “What’s up?” she asks, ignoring the fuzz in her vision and wondering if she’d once again ‘forgotten’ to restock that rack of ugly sweaters. 

Kameron leans in to take a closer look at her face, and it’s then that Aquaria realizes their proximity. “You alright, Aqua?” Kameron asks, the slight peak of southern twang in her voice telling Aquaria that something is amiss. “You look a little pale.”

In her everlasting quest to avoid telling the truth, Aquaria decides now is as good a time as any to channel her inner Brianna. “I’m always pale,” she assures with a smile, “and I’m just tired. Nothing to worry about.” She is, of course, a better liar than Brianna could ever hope to be. 

Kameron lets her gaze linger long enough that Aquaria considers pulling out her phone to check her aforementioned complexion. She smiles, lets her eyes flutter closed for just a second. She even shows her teeth a little. Kameron turns away with a placated expression, and Aquaria tries not to look too pleased with her victory. She lowers her head to rest on the counter as Kameron ambles down the hallway. The dim, fuzzy idea that something is wrong persists, but she decides to ignore the feeling. 

Guilt bubbles in her lungs, and Aquaria has to remind herself that it wasn’t a total lie. She  _ is _ tired-- positively exhausted, and preoccupied with thoughts of cold rain and hearty meals. Work and reward. Calories, routine exercise, long dreams. The image of letting her tired, heavy body meld into the couch as she finally sleeps; creating a strange, comatose creature of laze and longing. 

A hand touches her head, and it’s as if a set of lenses all suddenly click into place one after another, reality sharpening around her in a whirl. She raises her head to shake the hand away. Snowflakes explode in her vision, and a high-pitched, wavering sort of buzz rattles in her ears. The sound seems to scream distress like a dog whistle. She swallows. Hard.

“Aquaria?” Kameron sounds like she’s trying to whisper through the downpour, voice faded and distant. “Can you hear me?”

“What?” she asks, perturbed by Kameron’s use of her full name, and worried further still by how thick her accent is getting. “What’s the matter?” Aquaria peers through the snow at the nearest clock and finds her answer. She’d dozed off, and now it's time to lock up. Time to  _ go _ .

Kameron moves to stop her rising. “Hang on a second” she warns, sounding somewhat desperate. “You don’t look so good.” 

Aquaria tries to look at Kameron’s face, but it keeps blurring and reallinging, colors melding and shifting, a painting in motion. “D’you need me to get you some water?” 

She finds herself transfixed. Kameron’s voice ebbs. “Seriously, Aquaria, you’re freaking me out.”

Silence. Black snow. There’s a brief moment of  _ touch _ , but it fades quickly, swallowed in the blur and void. Her thoughts splutter, sticky with haze yet unable to remain in focus. Threads trailing, fraying, and she reaches for none, paralyzed with the experience.

The first observation that she manages to hold onto, is humming. A familiar tune, comforting, drawing her out of the deep and back to the world of the living. She’s held against a warm body. Heavy cloth droops over her twitching fingers. Strong hands run across her arm, checking her wrist for a pulse, and Aquaria finally manages to blink through the the dark snowy storm in her vision. She grips Kameron’s fingers as they brush past her own, throat dry and quiet as she speaks.

“Sorry.” Her brain reboots in defense mode, but her body remains weakened and pliant. “I’m fine. I just need to- need some fresh air.”

Kameron takes a breath, shuddering, and holds Aquaria a little tighter. “Just… stay here with me for a bit, ‘kay?”

Aquaria takes in her surroundings as her senses return. Kameron is propped up against the wall, and she is sprawled out in the girl’s lap, held in a somewhat upright position by an arm around her middle. Kameron’s chin rests on top of her head, a light, easing pressure. It dawns slowly, like impending nausea. “I passed out,” she states dumbly, incredulous.  _ Disappointed _ .

Instead of speaking, Kameron leans over to unzip the duffle bag still awkwardly strapped to her. She pulls out a bottle of water, and a protein bar of some sort. “You scared the shit out of me, is what you did.” Her voice is hushed, but even, and Aquaria senses practice behind it. “I called your roommate. She was on the way to get you anyways, but she’ll be here soon.”

Aquaria debates her next words carefully. It is very easy to trick Kameron, to  _ lie _ to her, but Aquaria knows that she isn’t stupid. She could figure everything out in a second, untangle her entire web of lies and expose her, like a specimen for dissection, a gross unravelling of her already unravelled psyche. 

Still, it needs to be said.

The crinkling of a wrapper brings Aquaria out of her thoughts, and as she turns to accept the bar from Kameron she murmurs, “Please don’t tell Brianna.” 

They lock eyes then, and Kameron fucking  _ knows. _ Aquaria looks away, frantic. She should have known _ better _ . 

Headlights cut through their tension, and Aquaria is suddenly very thankful for Monet’s timing. She’s both surprised and terrified to see Asia get out of the passenger seat, and knows that even though she’s out of the oven, she’s still headed for the frying pan. 

They rush in, worried voices echoing in Aquaria’s frightened, still stuttering mind. She takes a bite of the bar, and stays silent. Kameron helps her up, slow and steady, and hands her over to Monet, who wraps a protective arm around her waist to steady her. 

Kameron explains what happened. Asia says she’s seen it before. She catches the word anemia, and relaxes, if only a little. At least it’s the wrong A-word.

They prepare to leave, Asia on one side of her and Monet on the other, and Aquaria turns back to look at Kameron. A gust of cool air breezes past her as Asia opens the door, and she notices that Kameron doesn’t have her leather jacket on. 

She rolls her shoulders. The clinking of buckles around her collar makes her heart drop.

* * *

Aquaria is far more careful at work, after the incident. 

She snacks before she leaves, and finds a place to squirrel away for a few extra calories during her break. Sometimes, the tiny girl with the dog tattoo from the game store across the street will happen across her hiding spot. She doesn’t watch, and never says anything, so they let each other be. 

She starts to keep a bottle of water with her at all times, advil and a cereal bar tucked in her back pockets. She is  _ not _ going to pass out at work again. It nags at her still, how stupid she was to land herself in such a vulnerable position. How foolish she was to show Kameron something like that. To let her  _ know _ , to touch her skin with icy, frosted fingers.

Tonight, however, she is once again testing her endurance. Only this time, she’s been cautious, strategic. This night has a solid week of planning packed into it, from her last drink before work down to the three hundred and fifty calories waiting for her at home.

She's not working with Kameron tonight, either. A decidedly feverish Brianna is her shift partner for the evening, and while under normal circumstances this would still require a similar amount of forethought, the fact that Brianna is sick almost makes Aquaria giddy. 

Guilt creeps along her shoulder blades, and Aquaria shivers. It's not like she wants her friend to be ill. She just wants Brianna to go home so she can be left to her self destruction. It takes both more and less energy to lie to Brianna than it does with Kameron. She’s very observant, wholly empathetic and understanding in a way that Aquaria can't always comprehend, but Brianna also made the mistake of trusting her. 

They loved each other, once. And though now that love has changed, they still share a sense of  _ knowing, _ could still map each other out. It's a double edged blade for them both, but the scales are tipping as Kameron becomes Brianna’s top priority. 

Aquaria is happy for them, she really is. It just also happens to work in her favor. Brianna is becoming too preoccupied to notice the little things anymore, too distracted to call her out on the fibs that she was previously very keen to. On some level, it stings. On another, it feels right. 

Brianna looks like she needs to rest, regardless.

It’s been busy all evening, and they’ve even had a few ‘speak to the manager,’ types to deal with. There’s been lots of strain, lots of Brianna running back and forth to grab things, lots of Aquaria trying her best to dissuade entitled customers. Now, in the at least momentary peace, there is lots of cleaning to be done.

They're both a bit put out, but Brianna is pale, eyes rimmed like a raccoon, sickness almost palpable as it weighs on her tiny little shoulders. 

"You're not looking so hot, Bri," Aquaria notes with a frown, passing by the blonde with an armful of unfortunately orange khakis. 

Brianna smirks, reaching up on her tiptoes to readjust a sign that some oblivious beanpole must have knocked askew. "You could just call me ugly," she laughs, wiping sweat from her brow.

Aquaria squirms past her again, flicking her forehead as she deadpans, "Okay, Ugly. You're not looking so hot."

"Rude, bitch," Brianna scolds with a smile, batting the girl's hand away to the best of her impaired ability. "You're not wrong, though. This virus is really knocking me out."

Inhaling softly, Aquaria turns her brows in pity. Brianna really does look like a risen corpse right now, but she may also be playing up the theatrics to make sure her plan works out. She trails her fingers down Brianna’s shoulder. "Yeah, maybe we should call Kameron and get you home. You look like you need a sleep."

Brianna breaks into a fit of giggles at that, sniffling. “And you  _ sound _ like you need sleep, Aqua.”

A blush spreads across Aquaria’s face and she curses her clumsy tongue. The slip is easily remedied, however. She’s still in control. She slowly pulls away, adding distance between them, knowing Brianna will overthink it. She knows she’ll dissect the action, prodding further and further until she comes to the conclusion that going home will gain Aquaria’s approval and thereby regain her closeness.

Sometimes, Aquaria feels horrible for taking advantage of people like this. Other times, she only wishes she did.

Catching a glimpse of herself in one of the stores many mirrors, Brianna finally gives in. “You’re right. I look more defunct than some of our stock,” she prods at her face, pulling at her eye bags. “Will you be okay closing by yourself?”

Pushing her feelings away, Aquaria smiles like her life depends on it. “Of course I will,” she waves off the girl’s concerns with an easy tone. “You know me. I’ll get everything done.” She passes behind Brianna, brushes her back with her shoulder, re-establishing their proximity and watching from the corner of her eye as the girl pulls out her phone.

Aquaria pretends to be busy folding clothes when Brianna turns to her. “You know that’s not what I mean,” she starts, but whatever lecture she has in store is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of an entering customer. Aquaria rushes to greet them.

It’s fifteen minutes and three indecisive shoppers later before Kameron gets there. Brianna looks physically relieved to see her, and immediately rushes off to the breakroom to gather her things. Kameron saunters up to the counter, and fixes Aquaria with an unexpected, smouldering stare.

“How are you doing, Aqua?” she asks in a tone so warm Aquaria almost melts. 

Caught off guard by the break in their usual greetings, and the sheer sentiment in Kameron’s eyes, she answers honestly. “Worn out,” a sigh, “but otherwise in good shape.” 

Kameron nods, leans just a little closer, murmurs like she doesn’t want Brianna to hear should she happen to come back. “Had time to eat yet?”

Alarm bells sound off. A test. 

“No,” Aquaria says, frowning for good measure. She boasts another lie like a shameless brat. “I have leftovers, though. I cooked myself some stir fry last night.”

“That’s good,” Kameron hums, content. She reaches into her pocket, the buckles of her jacket clinking their familiar clink as she slides a single protein bar across the counter. “Here’s a snack,” she adds, “just in case.”

Brianna stumbles back towards them then, out of her uniform and changed into something that looks more like children’s pajamas than casual wear, but Aquaria elects to keep her mouth shut. The two lovebirds attach like magnets, fingers interlocking, gazes drawn to each others.

“You guys are gonna make  _ me _ sick,” Aquaria mocks, and Brianna sticks her tongue out in retaliation. 

“We’ll leave you to it then, sourpuss,” she laughs, turning to her girlfriend with a glazed, satiated twinkle in her eye. “Let’s head out, babe. I’m beat.”

“I bet you are,” Kameron chuckles, brushing her thumb across Brianna’s cheek. She turns back to Aquaria, giving her the same expression of worry. “You can text me if you need anything, yeah?”

She could just text their boss, like she’s technically supposed to, but Aquaria finds herself nodding anyways. “Whatever you say, mom,” she rolls her eyes, smiling equal parts bitter and sweet.

“She’ll be fine,” Brianna assures. Her next words are a challenge issued the same way it always was. She cocks her head to the side, mouth innocent but eyes wise. She glances to the bar on the counter. “Won’t you, Aquaria?”

It’s nostalgia and heartache all at once, molten feeling boiling to the surface stopped only by her obsidian tongue, countering the same way she always did. “I’ll be perfect.”

Then, they’re gone.

Aquaria stares at the bar, cursing herself for forgetting to factor her own stupid brain into the equations of planning this night. Emotion twinges in her stomach, raw and uncomfortable, until a tall, bulky man stalks in. His clothes do all the bragging before he can even open his mouth, and whatever cologne he’s wearing almost makes her eyes water. He leers in a manner Aquaria is all too familiar with.

She smiles extra wide to avoid the crush of disgust and loneliness. “Welcome, sir. How may I help you?” 

* * *

Kameron was the first to notice because if there’s anything Aquaria is good at, it’s lying to people she’s in love with. 

It’s the reason Brianna broke things off with her. The reason nothing between her, Asia, and Monet is official. Even though they’re living together, even though she fucking _aches_for it. 

She wants everything and gives nothing in return, loves without being loved. She becomes intimately familiar with those she’s drawn to, observes them carefully so she can figure out what makes them tick; all the while keeping herself locked in a box with only a hole cut out for her smile. She's a master in the art of controlling conversation, steering it away from her, shutting people out. 

It goes further than romance, of course. Aquaria expends a great amount of energy ensuring people only see of her what she allows them to.

Her cautions for work and elsewhere are but dust in comparison to how she functions around Asia and Monet, however. She runs on complete overdrive around them, giddy, watchful, paranoid. She’s always loved the rain, but it makes weaving webs difficult. Dew and water colliding with her carefully angled threads, pulling things askew, threatening to weigh on them until breaking.

Tonight, one snaps.

“Hold on,” Asia starts, in that tone that means she’s figured someone out, eager to call them on it. “Aquaria told me you guys got dinner on her break.”

Her stomach implodes in fear, a black hole, devouring even her mind’s instant screams for her to the sprint the rest of the way to her room. Footsteps. Her room is just at the end of the hallway, and they’re in the kitchen. She could make it if she ran.  _ ‘Think, think, think,’ _ she tells herself, breathing hard and taking horrid, slow strides forward. 

“Aquaria,” Asia calls her name, expectant. “Come here and talk to me for a second.” 

The gears are still spinning as she slowly turns on her heel. “I heard,” she mumbles, feigning tiredness. She swallows, tentative in her words. “I’m really not feeling well, can I just go to bed?” She tries her best to sound cranky, knowing that she’s more liable to snap when she’s sick, but it just sounds like she’s going to cry. To be fair, she’s dangerously close.

Neither of them are allowed to know her secret, her problem. It would ruin everything. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them, it’s just how it has to work. In the past, telling others her vulnerabilities only hurt Aquaria further, only turned their kindness to revulsion. So, they can’t know. This was the root of tonight’s broken silk.

Monet had a rare day off, and came to visit Aquaria during her break. They laughed together, momentarily attached at the hip, and Monet provided much needed relief from the tortures of retail work. But they hadn’t eaten. Aquaria had used the same excuse she’s using now, that she wasn’t feeling well, and couldn’t stomach it. 

It’s barely even a lie, at this point. The rest of her shift was spent trying to keep upright as she festered with whatever cold she’d gotten off Brianna, but even feeling truly ill she had texted Asia something completely different. Something to keep her from worrying.

Asia comes towards her, frown unreadable. “Let me take a look at you.”

Fear still curls in Aquaria’s chest, hot steam building pressure and pushing for release. She flinches away from Asia’s fingers as the woman reaches out to touch her face, eyes wide. She sucks in a sharp breath, glance darting frantically. She’s been caught in a lie, and now they have the chance to peek behind the intricate filters, to see her for who she really is. Pathetic, selfish, narcissistic. 

_ Ugly _ .

Something in Asia’s expression changes when Aquaria is barely capable of whimpering her response over the threat of tears. "Please," she begs, shutting her eyes. "I don't feel good." 

With a sigh, Asia slows her movements until her hand rests on Aquaria's cheek, touch somehow mollifying and panic inducing at the same time. Gentler still, she plants a lingering kiss on the girl's forehead. "You're running a fever," she states upon pulling away, watching carefully, observing a skittish animal. "Do you want me to get you some acetaminophen?"

Aquaria thinks about Kameron doting over Brianna-- making her soup, tucking her in, staying until she falls asleep,  _ loving  _ her-- and stares into Asia's eyes, lost in fatal curiosity.

"I'll be fine," she chokes, and can't stop herself from taking a sudden deep, shuddering inhale. Something hot and shameful runs down her cheek. "I… I-I need to go lie down."

Her legs finally seem to get the memo, and she all but flies down the hallway into her room. The slam of the door masks the noise of misery that’s clawing its way up from her tightened throat. She turns the lock, covers her mouth, and listens to Asia pace outside; feeling her heartbeat quicken with every breath.

"And what did your interrogation reveal?" Monet's humor laced voice questions as it approaches from the end of the hall. Aquaria slowly slides down against the door, curling her knees up to her chest.

Asia sighs, slow and heavy. "Something's wrong.”

_ ‘Nothing is wrong. There’s nothing to worry about.’  _ Ice cuts up her lungs as she breathes, and slams her forehead onto her knees to ease the pain, however little sense it makes. 

“What do you mean?” Monet asks, “it’s just a little bug. She’ll be fine.”

_ ‘She’s right,’  _ Aquaria thinks, screwing her eyes shut and sneering through her panic,  _ ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll be perfect. I always am.’ _

“It’s not the fever that I’m worried about, you fool,” Asia huffs, “she was  _ crying _ .” There’s a short silence, wherein Aquaria has just enough time to remember exactly how much of herself she hasn’t shown them. 

“Why aren’t you with her then?” Monet sounds slightly frantic, and Aquaria’s body turns to blue brittle ice in a fraction of a second when she hears her start to approach the door. 

“Don’t,” Asia’s voice is stern, yet solemn and resigned. “Give her space.”

“But-”

“She doesn’t want to talk about it,” Asia persists, and Aquaria is almost relieved. “But we’re  _ gonna _ talk about it. Just… not right now. She needs time to calm down.”

She tunes them out then, too occupied with pulling her hair down over her ears, ice and blood spraying from nose as she breathes in shallow, uneven puffs. 

Now, she’s  _ really _ fucked up. The thought makes her room a tundra, darkened, icy, and alone. Devoid. Unfeeling. She breathes like her chest is caving in for what feels like centuries, but eventually, she acclimates to the cold and crawls to her desk. 

With translucent, blue fingertips, she reaches for her sketchbook. There’s only a black ballpoint pen clipped to the spiral binding, but Aquaria doesn’t care. She needs to get these feelings out of her body and onto the pages before she explodes. Color is unnecessary.

She stays up late into the night, drawing, scribbling without any thought. Asia knocks on her door at some point, calls her name, but she pretends to be asleep and doesn’t answer. She draws the things she wants, made horrid and ugly. A beautiful woman, stomach split and spilling gore. A wedding attended by bodies in decay, all seated to one side.

She hangs them on the wall, next to her fashion sketches. Then, she cries again.

The fever forces her into bed sometime after three. As she slips into unconsciousness, she thinks about what would have happened if she’d let Asia take care of her. If she hadn’t run away. 

Laying on the couch, half buried in blankets, Monet’s hands running through her hair and Asia stroking the side of her face like she always wants to. She’d take the medicine and feel a little better, resting in the company of people who love her.

Her room is cold and empty. Finally, she sleeps.

* * *

Aquaria can only keep it all a secret for so long.

Kameron already knows. Asia is going to figure it out, tell Monet, and they’ll kick her out. Brianna will find out, too, and be angry with her. Everything is going to crumble.

She’s been dutifully avoiding Asia and Monet over the past few days. It hurts her,  _ kills  _ her, but it must be done. She can only keep it a secret for so long, and she’s stretching that amount of time to the best of her ability. She’ll leave early in the morning, explore the city, stay out after work and not return until everyone has fallen asleep. This cycle continues until the end of the week, when Monet and Asia both have work parties to attend.

Aquaria stumbles back into their apartment around nine, dizzy and heavy-headed. She’s not drunk yet, but she might as well be with how little sleep she’s been getting, how little food she's been eating. Asia and Monet are nowhere to be seen, and so Aquaria wastes no time putting her bag down and getting ready for another night out.

First, she shuffles into Monet’s room. Despite having been told multiple times that she is free to smoke if she likes, Aquaria usually refuses to do so alone. She says it’s because it feels like stealing when Monet isn’t there, and while true, it’s mostly because smoking weed when she’s alone is a very bad idea. She becomes too thoughtful, too introspective, and so goddamn  _ hungry. _ She dwells on moments and flaws in kaleidoscopic detail, stuffing her face until she nods off. 

Tonight, though, she doesn’t particularly care about the consequences, begging for the worst. She readies Monet’s bong in the bathroom, packing more than she should into the bowl, exhaling deeply and lighting up. She didn’t put quite enough water in and it makes her throat feel like lacerated ash, but she manages to finish in one go and cough it all out the window. It rushes to her head, quicker than usual, and she gulps in fear.

She spends a few minutes bent over the sink, spluttering, thoughts already growing beyond her control and stealing her away with them. A howling storm of _ 'ugly selfish, awful.' _ She grips the counter top so hard it hurts, staring herself down in the mirror. Eventually, she calmly puts everything down, steals one of Monet’s sweaters, and walks back into the kitchen. Her senses pull and warp, and she thinks about herself in the seventh grade, small and gross and trying too hard. 

She sneaks a bottle of something blue from the liquor cabinet, taking a hearty sip. A deluge of sweetness and agony washes over her tongue, and it brings a strange half smile to her face.  She pulls out her phone, turning off airplane mode and watching the flood of late texts from Monet and Asia asking where she is, if she’s alright, to please call them. Her breathing picks up and she can’t quite name what she’s feeling, so she just takes another drink instead. 

No matter how much she tries to prevent it, no matter how well she hides, she’s causing them pain. She’s hurting them like she hurt Brianna, and they won’t want to be with her either. The thought makes her laugh instead of cry, like it probably should. She doesn’t belong with them. She doesn’t belong with anyone, anywhere. 

It’s hard to keep track of her thoughts and actions, but between more sips of liquor and grabbing one of Asia’s jackets, she finds herself outside again, walking along a busy road to avoid staying in the house and binge eating. She holds the towel-wrapped bottle in one hand, and whiteknuckles her phone with the other. The wind whips past her face and she can barely notice the rumble of  _ 'ugly, disgusting, unlovable,'  _ over the roar of engines and fog of exhaust. It’s fucking  _ heavenly _ .

She walks, and drinks, thinks about her collarbones, and drinks some more. At some point, her legs start to feel like jelly and the only part of her brain that isn't trying to kill her knows she needs to sit down somewhere. So she sits, and watches the cars a little too intently, for a little too long.

Her phone tells her that it’s now very-late o’clock, that she has a lot of missed calls and a few more concerned texts.  She can’t really read anymore, the phone is too bright and her drink is so sweet, but she opens them anyways. She can make out a few words. Where. Drunk. Looking. Worried.

She feels even more upset after reading them, even though nothing registered. She sniffles, takes another swig of her drink, shivers. 

The realization trickles down her spine, cold and uncomfortable. She doesn't know where she is, what she's done, what she's going to do.  _ ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’ _

Her fingers swipe to the call screen without her mind's permission, and she thinks about calling them, hearing their voices and telling them she's sorry-- that she _misses_ them-- but she can’t bring herself to. She taps another name instead.

It rings once, twice, and she's never been so grateful to hear Kameron's voice in her life. "Hey, what's up, how are you?" she greets, just like she always does, and stifles a yawn.

Aquaria could fucking cry.

"Kameron," she whimpers, and the sound of her own voice makes her uneasy. "I need help."

"What happened? Are you okay?" Kameron wastes no time asking questions, and there's some static as she presumably sits up in bed. "Have you been drinking?"

"Yeah," Aquaria whispers, strongarmed into honesty by her blood alcohol content. "I took a bottle for a walk, and it's dark, I think… I think I'm lost." She looks around, trying to glean something from her surroundings but unable to see through the haze of tears and headlights. "I'm sad," she adds, just to get it off her chest.

"Oh, sweetheart," Kameron croons, "You stay put an' I'm gonna come get you, 'kay?" 

It makes Aquaria feel like a child, but in a calming way. She tries to stay focused. There's more shuffling on the other end of the line, muffled speech and the jangle of keys. "You're so nice to me," her teeth chatter in the cool night. "Why are you so nice to me?"

Kameron answers with her own question. "Brianna's coming with me, is that alright?"

Oh. 

The illusion of comfort shatters. She's just bothering them, too. Interrupting their time and making them worry, hurting them with her stupidity. Brianna's probably going to yell at her for being selfish, inconsiderate and pathetic in her anguish. Serves her right.

"Aqua?" Kameron beckons over the phone, "you still there?"

She could hang up. Could turn her phone back on airplane mode, finish off the bottle and find a bench to sleep on. She doesn't need help, she just needs to stop bothering the people she cares about.

But she doesn't hang up. "M'sorry," she slurs instead, listens to the sound of an engine starting, breathes a little quicker. "I fucked up. I really fucked up."

Silence. Brianna answers. "Hey there," she says, tone knowing and tinged with anxiety. "Take a deep breath for me?" 

She shudders through an inhale, holds, and exhales hard through her nose.  _ ‘Worthless, annoying burden _ .’

"Can you tell us where you are?"

She looks around again, tries to remember the route she took. "No," she blubbers, pitiful. "I'm lost, and it's really dark, and, and-"

"It's okay," Brianna soothes, "can you try and check your location on your phone?"

She pulls it away from her ear, biting down on her lip.  _ ‘Idiotic, foolish creature.’ _ A few moments of fumbling later, she texts them the street name, and completely interrupts Brianna with more whimpering. “I’m sorry, Bri,” she hiccups, frostbite gushing through her veins. “I shouldn’t bother you with this… you shouldn’t… you don’t need to…”

“Babe,” Brianna says, a reflex. “You need to relax. It’s okay.” 

For the first time since they’ve known each other, Aquaria listens.

“We’ll be there in a few, alright?”

She keeps her eyes trained on the asphalt, breathing slow like Brianna said and still holding the phone to her ear even though they’ve already ended the call. Soon, a car pulls up on the side of the road, and the rush of relief drives her to stand up far too quickly. The world tilts around her but she stumbles over to Brianna anyways, all but collapsing onto her.

She’s maneuvered into the backseat, and when Brianna slides in next to her she can’t help but to pull the girl close, clawing at the back of her jacket. “Bri,” she groans, tears flowing freely as she hides her face. “Bri, I fucked up. I’m bad, just like you said, and- and they’re never going to talk to me again.” The words die off in a garbled sob. Everything presses down at once, forceful and constricting.

A hand strokes through her tangled hair, and a calm voice hushes her, but doesn’t interrupt when she starts to speak again.

“I should just tell them,” she heaves an exhale, “but nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong but it- it hurts so bad.” 

“What do you mean, Aqua?” The words are whispered into her hair, but she shrinks away and shakes her head. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” she repeats, hollow, and continues to muffle her wails. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

She has no idea how long she spends sobbing in Brianna’s lap, but when the car comes to a stop, she’s fuzzy and numb. The door opens, and she’s cradled in strong arms, metal clinking as she nuzzles her cheek against cool leather. “Don’t carry me,” she whines, “too heavy.” If she weren’t so drunk, Aquaria would be certain Kameron presses a kiss to her forehead, but in her current state she has trouble believing it.

Her head’s spinning has escalated to black dots searing through her eyes, like a photograph on fire. She’s gently laid on a couch, the pull of sleep making a wreck of her already dulled senses, so much so that when Brianna starts to ask questions again she doesn’t react.

Then, she’s devoured by the endless dark. 

* * *

She wakes up frantic, sitting bolt upright, headache quick to split her skull. 

Her memory is blotchy, and as her vision swims into focus, she sees a figure bustling in kitchen. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes reveals it to be Kameron, who perks up when she spots Aquaria’s wide eyed stare.

She tiptoes into the living room, coffee in hand, and kneels on the floor beside the couch. “How are you feeling this mornin’?” she asks, giving the girl a look of sympathy. “I wasn’t expecting you to be up so early.”

Aquaria ponders the question in earnest, meets Kameron’s gaze, forces her tongue to move. “Afraid,” she croaks. “Everything hurts.”

Kameron lays the coffee on the table, sits beside her, rests a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want me to call your roommates so they can take you home?”

_ ‘Yes,’ _ her heart cries.

_ ‘No,’ _ her brain counters.

Something inside her short circuits. Panic bleeds through the fog of sleep.

Sparing her from having to answer, Brianna enters the room and shares a long, worried look with Kameron before sitting on Aquaria’s other side. She can’t look at either of them, can’t open her eyes to the icy mess she’s made, and is grateful when Brianna gathers her in her arms. 

“Can you get some water for her?” The girl’s voice is still comforting, even directed at someone else. “Some ibuprofen, too.”

She lets the tears come out again once Kameron leaves the room. Brianna’s seen her cry before, seen her yell, seen her at her ugliest. It’s safe to show her now.

“God, Aquaria,” Brianna sighs, rocking her side to side. “What’s bothering you? I’ve never seen you this upset.”

Aquaria surprises herself with her answer. “I’m tired of hiding, Bri.” A beat of silence, the words spill from her lips without control. “I-I don’t wanna lie anymore.”

“You don’t have to lie, babe. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She doesn’t want to say it. She  _ really _ doesn’t want to say the A-word, especially not to Brianna. “I… I think I’m- I think I, uhm…”

Brianna tells her to take her time, and so she takes a moment to gather her courage. She needs to tell someone, to spill her guts and scream until she's exhausted every possible description of the visceral pain she's in. But Brianna already knows how it feels, so Aquaria spares her the details and rips the metaphorical bandaid off before she can back out.

“I’m sorry,” she warns, weak, and moves to whisper it in Brianna’s ear.

The confession pools like bitter blood in her mouth, and she’s overcome with the desire to run away. The arms around her tighten, shaking. The room slowly freezes.

"How long?" Is Brianna's only response, voice clipped and breaking. Shame roils in Aquaria's throat.

"I never wanted to tell you."

When they had first started dating, Brianna was in a very bad place mentally. She was a tightly wound ball of anxiety, despair, and self-loathing, wrapped in a layer of humor and a background in theatre. She could weave a web of lies just as well as Aquaria, if not better, at the time. She lied about food most often, and while Aquaria caught on to a couple of them, she never said a thing. She didn’t have the right to. She was doing the exact same, a mirror copy parroting similar excuses. 

They were, and still are, famous for their bickering and banter, but after the ambulance and the two days Aquaria spent hallucinating candy in the hospital waiting room it all turned sour. When they fought after that, it was raw and serious _ ,  _ and Aquaria knows she could have been better; could have been more supportive, been  _ empathetic _ for even just a minute. But she wasn’t. Survival instinct came first.

After a lifetime of killing themselves, weeks of killing each other, and a year of dying together in the same house, they ended it. Over time, Brianna made an effort to heal. Over time, she became the better liar.

The sound of Kameron padding her way back over to them brings Aquaria down to reality, if only somewhat. She uses that same practiced, even voice to tell Brianna it’s okay, to go take a minute to breathe, that she can take care of things.

This leaves Aquaria, still teary and disoriented, staring into the empty space where Brianna had been sitting. She gulps.

Kameron sits beside her again. She holds out two pills and Aquaria swallows them dry, only drinking when Kameron wraps her hands around the glass and guides it to her mouth.  "You told her.” 

Guilt blooms under Aquaria's fragile ribs. Her voice comes out robotic. "I’m sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you."

She's ready to stand, ready to swipe her phone off the coffee table, run as far as her legs can carry her and never look back. Something cold splashes her leg, and Kameron takes the glass away.

Aquaria knows what’s coming next. Kameron is going to be angry that she upset Brianna, and send her away. That's fine. That's what she wants. She doesn't deserve to be comforted and cared for, they're only wasting their energy, and once they realize it everything will go back to normal. Nothing will be wrong.

"Don’t be sorry,” Kameron pleads, repeating herself when Aquaria shakes her head in response. “You don’t need to apologize. Bri will be okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She reaches out, warm fingers brushing against Aquaria’s cheek, gingerly turning the girls face to look at her. “I’m glad that you told us,” she murmurs, “I’m proud of you.”

Time screeches to a halt and Aquaria bites back a sob, cupping Kameron’s hand with her own. She’s overwhelmed by the intimacy of the statement, awed by its tenderness, yet it somehow hurts more than anger would have.

Kameron hugs her then, and Aquaria is reminded of how small she's become. They lull into a comfortable silence, filled only by Kameron's humming, turned into a mess of limbs on the couch. Somewhere along the way, she rests her head against Kameron's chest and revels in the heartbeat that fills her ear. A reminder that this is real, that she's not just drunkenly dreaming of such kindness. 

When Brianna comes back, she's on the phone with someone. Through her exhausted haze, Aquaria notes that she's the subject of the conversation. "Tell them I'm fine," she yawns, assuming Asia or Monet is on the other end of the line.

Kameron rubs her back while Brianna tells the truth. "She's not in good shape, but she's okay."

She's surprised when this description elicits no fear. Upon further foggy thought, Brianna's right. She's achy, drained, and emotionally numb, but she's okay. She's being held instead of berated, talking instead of hiding, resting instead of running.The water is unsettled, but the ice has melted.

She dimly realizes her dozing when Brianna tells the phone she’s “out like a light,” but makes no effort to deny the claim. Kameron is warm, and to just be wrapped in someone’s arms is all she’s wanted for a long time. Their hushed voices sound like a lullaby, and with a deep sigh, she once again drifts asleep.

* * *

When she wakes, Brianna has gone to work, and Kameron offers to drive her home. 

She gets a shower, changes into some of Brianna’s now categorically ridiculous sleepwear, and nestles herself in the passenger's seat with both of the coats wrapped around her. She thanks Kameron quietly, but profusely, and is met with a smile. 

“No worries, darlin’,” she assures, accent still thick like it has been all morning. Aquaria kind of loves hearing it, if she’s honest. “Can I talk to you for a bit, though?”

Aquaria nods, and as they begin their drive through the lazy late afternoon traffic, Kameron cautiously approaches her subject. “Brianna tells me you have trouble… opening up to people,” she mumbles, eyes soft as she casts a quick glance to meet Aquaria’s waiting gaze. 

She starts to stutter out a denial, but after a few failed attempts she simply breathes, “Yeah, I think I do.”

“I understand the feeling,” Kameron admits, eyes fixed on the road. “Somewhat, at least. You’re afraid when they look, they won’t like what they see.” 

She doesn’t answer. Kameron continues.

“I’ve been learnin’ that when someone loves you, they wanna see. They wanna see you_, _know you, share themselves with you. It’s special to them_._” She pauses, then smiles again. “It sounds like your roommates really care about you,” she says, “you should show them.”

“I’m scared,” Aquaria squeaks, pulling the collar of one of the sweaters up over her mouth. “It’s ugly.”

“That’s understandable,” Kameron hums as they turn onto Aquaria’s street. “But trust me, even if you think that, they’ll still want to see it. People can be stubborn when they’re in love.” They pull to a stop outside her apartment, and let the conversation breathe, sitting in a calming silence until Kameron breaks it, tone light. “And, hey,” she grins, “they invited you to take over their guest room. That’s a pretty good sign.” 

Aquaria laughs then, the sound foreign but bright. Kameron laughs, too, and gives her a look that makes her heart  _ swell _ . Insisting on being a gentlemen, Kameron walks her to the door, and gives her one last hug before heading off. 

She hears running before she can even get her key out of the lock, and Monet appears in the doorway as she kicks off her sneakers. They look at each other for a few tense moments, and then Aquaria yelps as she’s practically tackled to the ground. 

“What the fuck, man,” Monet exclaims, holding Aquaria close like the girl will disappear if she doesn’t, like it’s a mirage she desperately wants to be real. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Allowing herself relax, Aquaria reaches to return the embrace, following Kameron’s advice and letting honesty ooze through the cracks in her armor. “I’m sorry,” she answers into Monet’s shoulder. “I missed you.”

A split second decision, she pushes against Monet’s grip and gets on her tiptoes to kiss her full force, peppering her face with sloppy, unrestrained affection.  Monet moves her away, hands gentle under her jaw, and the longer Aquaria stares into her eyes the more her own well with tears.

“Hey, hey,” Monet soothes, brushing away tear trails with her thumb. "What's wrong, Aqua? What's going on in that head of yours?" 

Emotion rains down on her shoulders, and she mauls the careful webbing with her heart in her throat.

"I love you," she rasps,  _ shatters. _ She gives a crooked smile through her body's shuddering. "I'm sorry, I know I'm breaking the rules."

Monet pulls her close again, cradles the base of her head in a way that turns her into a happy little puddle. "You made the rules, baby. You can break 'em if you want."

Realization written plain across her face, Aquaria blinks twice and asks, “So I can say it again?”

Monet answers her with a kiss, soft but weighted with longing. Aquaria’s exhausted body melts into the gesture, voice liquid smoke as she repeats her confession, sweet words whispered against Monet’s lips. 

A smile, eyes like sunlit gold, another kiss to the edge of her mouth. “I love you too, Aqua,” Monet hums, the corners of her eyes crinkling with her elation.

They finally pull apart and move out of the porch, only making it as far as the couch before Monet is all over her again, hands running along her body in slow, trailing motions. She holds Aquaria by the chin, runs her finger over the sharp curve of her jawline, offers to order pizza.

“Asia is working late tonight?” Aquaria asks, tone not unlike a disappointed child. The recently unleashed lovestruck part of her brain was looking forward to a home cooked meal. She usually saved her meal of the day for dinner with at least one of them, and it’s a routine she’s been sorely missing.

Monet shakes her head, and her gaze heats with concern. “She’ll be home around five. You’re just- you look really boney.”

Aquaria shivers, but doesn’t look away. Her stomach growls at the mention of food and she tucks herself into her collar, voice trembling with shame. “Do I?” 

She’s answered with a kiss to the forehead, zipper sliding away and revealing her bitten lip. “It’s okay,” Monet says, sweeps her thumb across the girl’s bottom lip and watches her eyes glaze with the action. “Asia will take care of that. Hope you’re ready to get mother-henned.” 

Aquaria lets Monet choose the toppings, preoccupied with a new anxiety and untrusting of her ability to keep up the honesty. She’s reminded of what she did, how crippling the fear of facing Asia’s concern has been. They watch cartoons while they wait, and later as she’s lifting the thinnest piece to her mouth, she asks in a small voice, “Is Asia mad at me?”

Monet swallows in a hurry. “Maybe a little,” she shrugs, “but only because she’s been so worried. We both have.” She smooths her pizza-free hand over Aquaria’s knee, comforting. 

“Oh.”

“You really gave us a scare, baby.”

“Oh,” Aquaria says again, even smaller, laying the untouched slice back in the box. 

Picking up another, Monet offers it to her. “She really wants to see you. You should've heard her this morning when she was on the phone with Brianna.” 

Sensing little point in fighting, Aquaria accepts it, taking the smallest bite she can. “I just…” She struggles to form the words, to describe the feeling. “I don’t want her to be mad at me." She takes another, bigger bite, not thinking about it. Monet puts an arm around her shoulders to give her a reassuring squeeze, muttering something Aquaria doesn't quite catch. 

By the time they hear the sound of a key in the lock, Aquaria has eaten three entire slices, and she goes completely rigid as the door creaks open. Monet kisses her cheek, tells her not to worry, and then Asia is there.

Everything happens in a rush. Monet stands, Asia drops her purse, and before she can even open her mouth Aquaria is buried in a hug. Asia doesn't say anything for a long while, just sits and holds her, face hidden in the crook of her neck.

It slowly dawns on her that Asia crying; upset, almost injured by her absence. She doesn't know what to do, so she starts by stating the obvious, voice quiet. "Monet said you were, uhm, worried about me."

The fear in Asia's usually sure tone breaks her heart. 

"Of  _ course _ I was worried," she pulls back, taking Aquaria's face in both hands. "When we came back and found your bag on the floor, I thought you were hurt or- or-" Her voice catches. The thought remains unspoken, but clear. 

Aquaria thinks back to the night she had a fever, to the countless times Asia has tried to pick apart the webs, tried to  _ see _ her. Raw feeling bubbles in her throat, the same way it did when she saw Monet. She swallows the hesitation, and speaks. "I'm sorry," she presses their foreheads together, closes her eyes. "I'm sorry. I-I love you." 

"I love  _ you _ ," Asia replies, as if they're trying to one-up each other. "God, you reckless little- never do that again."

"Told you," Monet taunts fondly from above them. She ruffles Aquaria's hair, smiling when the girl blinks up at her. Leaning down, she kisses Asia’s cheek and says “Mother hen,” in a mocking sort of sing-song, trying to swipe up the empty pizza box before Asia can notice that they’ve been eating on the couch. 

“Oh, shut up,” Asia huffs, letting Aquaria go to rub at her eyes. “You cried, too.”

“You have no proof,” Monet counters, and just as she thinks she’s gotten away with it, Asia reaches out to grab her wrist.

“No,” she admits, “but I do have proof that you’ve been getting crumbs all over my expensive couch. Again.”

Aquaria watches them fall into one of their usual old-married-couple arguments, something about the cost of leather furniture and the tenacity of grease stains. It makes her feel at home. She knows work is going to kill her tomorrow, that the chill will come back again at some point in full force, but it doesn’t matter. Right now, she’s warm. Right now, she’s watching her two favorite people love each other.

Their banter has relocated to the kitchen, now, and Aquaria is still observing from her new position leaning on the counter. They turn to her as she laughs, giving each other a look of agreement. Monet approaches from one side, tucking some of Aquaria’s hair from her face. Asia comes from the other, stroking her thumb across the girl’s cheek. 

Aquaria looks back at them, moonstruck. Though one secret remains locked away, she allows herself to simmer in the company of people who love her.


End file.
